Txt Wars
by breezyme
Summary: Jude has stolen Tommy's cell phone. A war ensues, via a spell of TEXT MESSAGES.
1. Jude's Prank

**Okay, so I got the idea for this while reading bubblebuttsbabe's story "So Damn Clever." In one chapter, Tommy sends a text with Jude's phone, and so, "Txt Wars" was born. This has no real plot other that for the characters to torment each other, and I have no idea how long this is going to be. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I think that one word says it all.**

Jude POV

I grinned as Tommy left the room. I got up from the stool where I was holding my guitar, setting my instrument down and taking off the headphones. I walked to the soundboard, where Tommy's "crackberry" as I liked to call it, sat.

I picked up the phone, slipping back into the recording room, and putting the phone in my guitar case. After I finished, I put the headphones on, picked up my guitar, and started strumming the chords for the new song I was working on. I couldn't wait until we had to break for lunch.

It was _one o'clock_ before Tommy finally stopped. God, I love that man, but he is just a slave driver in the studio.

"Jude," Tommy said, stopping me mid-song. "Have you seen my phone?"

"No," I replied glaring. "Besides, why do you need it right now? Aren't you supposed to be _working?_"

Tommy just rolled his eyes. "Let's break for lunch. Be back at the studio in half an hour." He left, probably leaving to go make sandwiches with Kwest. I smiled.

I got Tommy's cell phone, then found that the keypad had a lock code on it. I smiled, this man was so easy to guess. I typed in RED LICORICE, and the keypad unlocked. Not very original, Tommy.

I started going over his contacts list. He had 296 people in his address book. Perfect.

I went into the messaging portion of the phone, typing in a text message that EVERYONE, and I do mean EVERYONE in his contacts list would see.

Smiling, I put the phone back on the sound board, leaving to go heat up the pizza she had in the fridge.

By the time we got back into the studio, everyone was whispering about the text "Tommy" had sent.

"Jude…" he began once we were safely inside the studio.

"Tommy, I know what you're going to ask, and I have absolutely no idea." I grinned. This was going good. I was a really bad liar, except when it counted.

"Fine, let's just get to work," he grumbled.

About fifteen minutes later, Darius came barging in.

"T!" he yelled. "You want to tell me what this is about?"

"What?" Tommy asked, confused. I stifled a laugh.

"THIS!" Darius yelled again, pointing to the screen of his cell, which read; **I, TOMMY QUINCY, HAVE HERPES!**

"WHAT. THE. HELL!" Tommy yelled. I couldn't help it, I was full-out laughing by now.

"I didn't send that!" Tommy said frantically. "My blackberry has been missing ever since earlier today, right Jude?" he exclaimed, turning to me, begging.

"Uh, Tommy? Your crackberry is right there, on the sound board, where it's been the entire day. You have herpes?"

"NO!" he yelled. He glared at me. "Wait a second…"

Darius left, calling behind him, "This better not happen again, T. I don't like jokes like this."

Tommy turned to glare at Jude, pressing the button for the mike. "I'm not going to tell, Jude. But I am going to get back at you."

I scoffed. "Please. Tommy, you couldn't even have an original lock code. I mean seriously, red licorice? Anyone who's seen you on a day with no sleep knows that."

He glared at me, and pressed the button again. "What I Want to Do, take 3."

**So, what do you think? This is the first chapter of Txt Wars, and I might post the next chapter as early as later today, because I just have a lot of ideas right now.**

**Enjoy, and please, just ONE review? PLEASE?**

**toodles,**

**breezyme****izza I had in the fridge.**

**ck in my guitar case, locking the case and leaving to go heat up the chinese . I typed in CELL, and **


	2. Tommy's Overzealous Revenge

**Okay, so I think I'm getting this up the same day. I'm writing this less than five minutes after I posted the last chapter. Anyways, I'm gonna let y'all read the story now. Toodles!**

**Disclaimer: Who actually reads this thing anyways?**

Tommy POV

I can't believe my girl would do this to me. I had to get her back. Also, I had to convince everyone I wasn't diseased while I made sure the press didn't get wind of this. Fun stuffins.

I had an idea, but I wasn't sure if it was going to work.

I picked up my cell phone, dialing the number that wasn't in my contacts list, but I knew by heart. It was the number for a tabloid.

"Hello?" a pleasant voice answered.

"Hello, may I please speak to Janette?" Tommy asked, imitating Jude's father's voice perfectly.

"One moment, sir."

"Yes?" an impatient, nasally voice answered.

"This is Stuart Harrison, Jude Harrison's father…"

Jude came back into the studio, looking at me suspiciously, probably because of the huge grin plastered on my face.

"Tommy?" she began warily.

"You have a press conference and a mall performance tomorrow," I said, the grin never leaving my face.

She laughed. "_This_ is how you get back at me? I love performing, and I can handle the press," she said, looking smug.

I pretended to look crestfallen. It must have worked, because she continued to look smug.

She shook her head, grinning. "Little Tommy Q. Once a brainless parachute pant wearer, always a brainless parachute pant wearer."

"Let's get back to work," I grumbled.

Jude POV

I woke up the next morning, and tiptoed past Sadie's room to the bathroom. I showered and got ready, still groggy.

I skipped downstairs to get coffee before I left, but Dad was there, yelling on the phone, so I decided to get my quota of caffeine once I got to G-Major.

I walked into G-Major, ignoring all the stares I got.

"Nice one, Jude," Patsy said, walking up to me and giving me a high-five.

"What?" I asked.

"You know!-" but Patsy was interrupted by Darius yelling from the top of the stairs.

"JUDE! MY OFFICE, NOW!"

Quaking slightly, I ran up to Darius's office.

Once I got there, Darius closed the door.

"What's the meaning of this, Jude?" he asked, pointing to the cover of a tabloid.

The headline screamed, **JUDE HARRISON; PREGNANT, BROKE, AND HIGH?**

"WHAT?" I screeched. "NONE of that is true, I swear."

"Read the article Jude. It comes from a pretty reliable source."

I read the article;

_Jude Harrison, first Instant Star winner, is pregnant! But that's not all. Stuart Harrison, the rebellious rock star's father, called last night very distressed, with some surprising news; not only is Jude pregnant, she's also addicted to cocaine and COMPLETELY BROKE, thanks to said addiction. Who is the father of the child? And WHAT will the infamous Instant Star surprise us with next?_

"My. Father. Did. What?" I said in a dangerously low voice.

Darius, not sensing my anger, barreled on. "Jude, you're G-Major's number one! We can't have this kind of drama! What were you-?"

I punched Darius in the face without even thinking about it, knowing exactly where to go.

Tommy was shamelessly flirting with an intern when I found him.

"Studio D. Now."

Tommy looked a little scared, but followed me anyways.

We walked into the windowless, soundproof, studio, and I closed the door.

"Tommy," I said dangerously. "This was overboard. I'm going to get arrested. Put into rehab. FIRED."

Tommy paled visibly.

"So, Tommy…" I cracked my knuckles. Yes, I can crack my knuckles voluntarily.

When we stumbled out of the studio five minutes later, people were staring.

"I am NOT pregnant, people. Get a life, I'm still a virgin."

Probably not the best thing to say. They just stared more.

I'm so glad I have Tommy's cell again. Of course, HE doesn't know that yet.

"Now, we have a press conference to go to, don't we Tommy?"

He gulped, then nodded.

_At the press conference._

"Jude!" one reporter yelled. "Is it true you're pregnant."

"No," I replied calmly.

"Then why did your father-?"

Another reporter butted in.

"Ms. Harrison, are you really addicted to cocaine?"

I sighed, then decided to just kill two birds with one stone.

"Look, I don't know what came over my father last night. Perhaps he was drunk. I don't know, but I'm not pregnant, I'm not broke, and I'm not _on_ anything. Except caffeine. I must have my coffee in the morning." The reporters all laughed at this.

"Ms. Harrison, does your father often drink?"

I glared at Tommy before answering with a flat, "No. Now if you'll all excuse me, I believe I have a performance to attend." I smiled as I thought of something. "And I'll be singing a new song."

Tommy paled, yet again.

"Okay guys, change of plans. We're playing 'What I Want to Do.'"

"Jude?" Speid asked.

"Yes, _Vincent?_"

"Never mind," he replied, seeing to look on my face.

We went out on stage.

"Okay everybody, I have a new song. It's called 'What I Want to Do,' and I thing you're all going to love it!"

I began singing the song, Tommy looking scared for his life. Or rather, his career, which is his life.

"_You tell me to calm down,_

_You tell me to slow down_

_You tell me it's gonna be okay_

_But I don't want to do what you say,_

_I don't want to listen,_

_To you go on and on,_

_All I want to do,_

_Is not talk to you_

_When I see you standing there,_

_Looking, oh so smug,_

_All I want to do,_

_Is pour water on your head,_

_Maybe take your phone,_

_Send out a mass text_

_But I don't want to do what you say,_

_I don't want to listen,_

_To you go on and on,_

_All I want to do,_

_Is wipe that smug grin off your face_"

I continued with the song, SME trying to hold back laughter as they realized what it was about.

"Thank you!" I yelled to the crowd as they clapped and cheered. I must say, I'm slightly surprised. I will get Tommy back, soon. But for now, I'll let him quiver in Darius's anger at letting me sing the song.

We sat in the studio, staring each other down. Darius had chewed Tommy out earlier, just as I'd predicted, but Tommy got off with just a warning.

I held up his cell.

He grabbed mine, before I could react.

"Let's begin this war," I said, not breaking my stare.

**Okay. That didn't turn out as good as I'd planned. Don't lose faith in me just yet, though. I'm already going to start the next chapter. This chapter had to be done, so y'all could see Tommy's revenge. Next chapter, the full-out war will start.**

**I wrote the song, but it sucks. I'm a terrible song writer, so, yeah. Be looking out for the next chapter.**

**toodles,**

**breezyme**


	3. The War

**Can I just begin by saying, "WOW!" I really was not expecting this much response, and to have it all positive. Seriously. Also, I'm extremely honored that bubblebuttsbabe reviewed this story, which makes me feel so special since her story was a key part of the inspiration for this story. Anyways, so here is where the real text war begins.**

**Disclaimer: Incase anyone is still reading after the last chapter, I don't own Instant Star, or Fall Out Boy, though they both would make me go completely star struck if I was to meet anyone from either one.**

Jude POV

We walked into the booth, where no one would hear us. I started texting on his phone while he tried to break the lock code on my keypad.

After about five text messages, Tommy yelled out, "Got it! Crackberry, Jude?"

I gave him an answer that sounded somewhat like "red licorice, Tommy?"

Before going back to texting, I switched the lock code on his phone. Jamie, using his computer expertise, had helped me pick the code earlier.

I went back to texting Sadie's pledge mistress, pretending to be Tommy.

Tommy POV

I am so going to kill Jude.

I mean, so I basically made everyone think Jude was the ultimate superstar cliché, but so what? So what if she basically told the public she's not a virgin when Karma said she wasn't, so that the public would believe her? Hot damn.

Jude is so going to kill me.

What the HELL was I thinking? I'm now biting my nails in pure terror of the consequences Jude has planned. She's looking at me funny.

"Something wrong, Little Tommy?"

That's it, I don't care what I did, she just called me LITTLE.

Jude POV

**Kwest, do you know my REAL last name?**

Jude was texting Kwest in hopes of finding Tommy's real last name.

**Kwest: Uhh… u mean Quincy? R u ok, man?**

**Tommy(Jude): Yeah, fine. So do you want to know my REAL last name?**

**Kwest: Sure…**

**Tommy(Jude): Buttshelf**

**Kwest: U kiddin, T?**

**Tommy(Kwest): Nope. C u l8r **

Okay, since there's no one to dispel that rumor, Tommy's "real" last name goes off to the tabloids. Tommy Quincy, meet Tommy Buttshelf.

Tommy POV

Must…be…good…incriminating pictures…SOMEWHERE on this girl's phone. What is she, a stepford, or something? WAIT, a picture of Speid's ass. Yup, that'll do.

**Jude(Tommy): Hey Karma**

**Karma: What?**

**Jude(Tommy): I have this huge secret, but u have 2 promise not 2 tell any1, k?**

**Karma: Of course not! IS sisterhood, after all.**

**Jude(Tommy): I have this addiction 2 speid's ass. Seriously. Let me send you a picture so you can see. (sends picture)**

**Karma: OMFG!! Sooo hot!!**

Perfect. Karma would have that out in the tabloids by this evening.

Jude POV

I left the room, eager to make this phone call.

Using a rather nasally voice, I called the number in the contacts list.

"Hey Tommy!"

"No, this is Mr. Quincy's secretary," Jude replied in her nasally monotone.

"Secretary?"

"Yes. Mr. Quincy has had me call to make arrangements for a Boyz Attack reunion concert."

"Seriously?!" Chaz sounded like my cat on crack. Or rather, catnip, which is basically crack.

"Yes. He said to tell you he 'gives' or some frivolous nonsense like that."

"Cool! So I'll look this up and call you back in a week with dates! Bye!"

I shut the phone, for Chaz had already hung up. I couldn't wait for next week to come.

Tommy POV

Okay, I have to admit, I'm a little star struck. I'm currently texting the lead singer of FALL OUT BOY! Don't even ask how Jude has that number in her phone, because I don't know.

**Patrick (Lead Singer of Fall Out Boy): Hey Jude**

**Jude (T): C'mon, you know I hate that**

**Patrick: I know, I couldn't resist. So, the boys and I were thinking about recording a duet**

**Jude (T): Cool, with who?**

**Patrick: You!**

**Jude (T): Awesome!**

Jude was going to love this. But I had to make sure that there was a _tiny _twist so that Jude would find problems. Wait… let me think… got it!

**Patrick: So, Saturday okay?**

**Jude (T): Yeah! What time are you guys getting in?**

**Patrick: Friday, about 1:00 p.m.**

**Jude (T): Cool, so be at the studio around 5?**

**Patrick: Yeah, sure. You okay with the early time?**

**Jude: Of course! My producer and I like to get early mornings on Saturdays.**

**Patrick: See you then.**

Jude was going to have my head. But it'd all be worth it to drag her into the studio at 5 a.m. on a Saturday morning. She looked bad enough on Saturday mornings, as she liked to sleep in. So add on the blasphemous hour and the fact that she's going out with SME tonight, **(Let's just say it's Friday in this fic, m'kay?) **and she will look like hell. I'm going to need Sadie and SME to help, though. So much fun.

---

"Hey Sadie!" Dear Lord, my voice sounds like Theodore the chipmunk, from Alvin and the Chipmunks.

"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously as I approached her desk.

"I just need you to set the clocks in your house three hours ahead when Jude goes out tonight," I said as if that were a completely ordinary, innocent request.

"Depends. How early are you making her getting up?"

"Four."

"Your funeral," she muttered quietly.

"Don't worry, I have in my will for you to plan it," I said over my shoulder as I walked away.

---

"Hey guys!" I said. Again, hello Theodore.

"What do you want?"

"Keep Jude out until at least midnight, but no later than two."

"What prank is this?"

"Make sure you're at the studio by five and you'll be able to see."

"Cool." SME went back to practicing. Good ol' SME, always up for a prank, no questions asked.

**Okay, so next chapter I **_**think **_**will be the last. I know, short, but that's when they get to see the tabloid articles that have been published, and what other consequences the text war has brought. If you actually want me to, I might be able to drag this out or make a sequel. But don't tell me until AFTER you've read the last chapter.**

**Also, I love your reviews, they make me smile. So, I'd love for you to review my new oneshot, ****Let Sleeping Jude's Lie****. I'm extremely proud of it, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. If not a review, well hits make me happy too!**

**Enjoy,**

**breezyme**


	4. The Final Battle for now

**What can I say besides; enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Instant Star.**

Jude POV

Someone's shaking me awake at… SEVEN? Lordy, it's SEVEN O'CLOCK?! How late was I out with SME? Right, back to it. Someone's shaking me awake.

"Jude," a voice insisted urgently. Oh, that's Tommy's voice. Fine, I'll wake up for Tommy. "Jude, we have to be in the studio in an hour. Come _on._"

I dragged myself out of bed only to fall face first on the floor. This was going to take a while.

---

Okay, I'm finally up, sort of. Not really. Okay, not at all. I'm sitting in Tommy's car wearing an old sweatshirt and an old pair of shorts, my hair sticking up in every direction, holding God's beverage (a.k.a. coffee).

We finally pull into the G-Major parking lot. I stumble out of the car, Tommy following right behind. When I get in the studio, everyone's staring at me.

"What are the tabloids saying about me today?" I joked, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Nothing," Portia says, sounding confused. "You've just never been a morning person. And you're, like, three hours early."

"What do you mean?" I asked, extremely confused. I gazed at the clock; it said 4:55 _a.m._

"LITTLE TOMMY Q! GET YOUR PARACHUTE PANTS WEARING ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW, AND TELL ME WHY YOU THINK WAKING ME UP AT AN UNGODLY HOUR IS ACCEPTABLE!"

"Hey Jude!" Patrick says, coming up to me. Wait, PATRICK? What the heck is he doing here?

"What are you doing here?"

"The duet, remember?" I look past his shoulder to see he has all of Fall Out Boy behind him.

"Duet?"

"Yeah, I texted you yesterday, remember? We offered to do a duet, and you said sure." He didn't _look _like he was lying. Wait, _texted?_ _Yesterday?_

"Excuse me one moment, Patrick," I say politely. "QUINCY!" I yell turning around. That man _will _be thrown into the flaming pits of hell. And then, regardless of how few cappuccinos I've had, I grab Tommy by the arm and drag him into Studio A.

Patrick POV

Honestly, I'm confused. Were here, at the hour she asked, but she's in the studio yelling at her producer.

She barges out a few minutes later, holding some car keys, her producer, who I've gathered is named Tommy, chasing her.

"PLEASE!" he begs. "Not the Viper, _anything_ but the Viper!" I'm intrigued.

I follow them outside, where Jude is getting into a blue Viper.

"Sweet ride, Jude!" I call out. "But I thought you had a Mustang!"

"She does!" Tommy says mournfully, kneeling on the ground.

I look up just in time to see Jude crash the Viper into a tree. She then hops out of the car, and uses the key to scratch something into the side of the car. Poor car.

She walks back over, handing Tommy the keys.

"_Think_ next time," she hisses.

Jude POV

Tom Quincy shall die, just as soon as he finishes my album.

"Okay Patrick, I'm ready now!" I chirp.

He follows me into the studio while Tommy sits in the parking lot, sobbing. It's quite amusing, actually.

As I walk into the lobby, Portia's staring at me. Again.

"What?" I whine.

She hands me a tabloid.

**SUPERSTAR JUDE HARRISON: ADDICTED TO PORN!** The headline screams. What. the. fudge. What did Tommy do this time?

In the article, there's a picture of Karma, holding her cell phone, talking to a woman in an ugly, ugly business suit that belongs in a dumpster somewhere. The caption reads:

_Jude Harrison's closest friend and confidant, Karma, worriedly tells reporter Jenna Fleet about her best friend's newest deadly addiction. She shows our reporter a conversation via texts that she had yesterday._

Screw my album. Tom Quincy will die.

"Serves you right for killing my Viper," Tommy says behind my back.

"Don't worry Quincy, there's some for you too," Portia says, flipping to the next page, which reads; Tommy Quincy; Tommy _Buttshelf?_

As Tommy scans the article, I whisper in his ear, "serves you right for all the trouble you've caused."

I can hardly wait till lunch.

---

Tommy POV

It's lunch time. I figure I'll be nice and let them all break now instead of working for another hour. I know Jude can't be serious on an empty stomach.

"Alright guys," I say into the mike. "Let's break for lunch." Fall Out Boy files out of the booth, leaving Jude and I.

"Here's your phone," I say, tossing it to her.

"Here's yours," she replies flatly, tossing mine back. It misses, however, and hits the wall. "Opps, sorry," she says, not really meaning it. "By the way," she says at the door. "You've got a date."

I'm left blinking. Oh well, the girl hasn't eaten. Perhaps she's just delusional.

When I come out, I see something terrible, something I had hoped never to see again. Sadie's pledge mistress, dolled up and screaming.

"TOMMY!" she squeals. Someone kill me now. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Before I have time to defend myself, she's dragging me off to goodness knows where.

Jude POV

"Tommy should be back any second now," I say to Patrick, not really know if that's a lie or not.

Tommy barged in seconds later. Apparently I wasn't lying. Good to know.

"You scheduled me for a _date? _ With _her?_" Tommy was mad.

"I thought she was just your type. You know blonde, bitchy, bimbos?"

"Yes, because I'm just jumping with joy right now, Harrison."

Tommy and I had been so busy fighting we didn't notice Patrick watching us intently.

"Jude, you never told me your life was better than a soap opera," Patrick said.

After this Tommy just sort of grunted. We both went back to work.

---

A while later, I convinced Tommy to let me go get a coffee. My plans were abruptly changed, however, when Chaz came walking in. I threw my hair into a bun, and threw on some thick framed glasses and a bored expression.

"You must be Mr. Blackburn," I said in the same voice I had used on the phone.

"And you must be Tommy's secretary. Umm… does Tommy really let you come to work dressed like that?"

"Mr. Quincy picks out my work wardrobe," I replied, trying to cover up my laughter. Chaz was really dumb if he was actually buying this story. "Do you have the dates?"

"Actually, we scheduled it for the day after tomorrow."

"That will be fine for Mr. Quincy. Where's it at?"

"Right here, at G-Major!" Chaz had gone back to using his puppy-on-crack voice.

"Perfect, now please leave, Mr. Quincy is a very busy man."

"Of course!" Chaz said. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow," he called waving over his shoulder.

---

---

It was the day after tomorrow. Patrick and Fall Out Boy had gone home. I had made sure I was going to work with Tommy today. I wanted to see this for myself.

We walked into G-Major and Tommy was immediately bombarded with make-up artists, hair stylists, and the members of Boyz Attack. I just went off and sat in a chair flipping through a style magazine.

A few minutes later: "JUDE!" Tommy roared, stomping over to me.

"Yes?" I asked innocently. I really hoped my eyes looked like glistening baby eyes, like they were supposed to.

"This was NOT part of the rules!"

"What ever are you talking about Tommy?" He fumed. "We never made any rules."

He stared me down for a moment. "FINE!" he yelled. "I give up. You win."

"Thank you," I said smugly, triumphant. "Now, come on Little Tommy Q, you've got a concert to do!" I said in a sing-song voice.

"I don't know what that was about," Darius said, coming out of his office. "But when this concert's done, everyone needs to go home and pack their bags. We're going camping!"

**Okay folks, this may be the end of Txt Wars, but there shall be a sequel, which I shall start to type as soon as I get this posted. Hope you all enjoyed this.**

**Now, I feel like rambling for a little bit. I'm going to tell you something that's going to make me seem like the totally certifiable outcast that I am. I'm so addicted to IS that I've bought every episode off of Itunes, except three that shall be bought when I am no longer broke (even though I've already seen them). Anyways, that's not the laughable part. I am so addicted I watch anywhere from 2-10 episodes nightly. When I hang around someone long enough, I pick up on their quirks of speech. For example, if they have an expression they say a lot, I'll start saying that a lot. Well, watching so many episodes of IS is like being around someone for a long time. So, here's the kicker; I've started saying "sorry" with a Canadian accent. And it's not my fault. Truly, I don't try. Is that not so pathetic? I don't have one ounce of Canadian blood in me. Dear Lord, I think I'm turning truly, actually certifiable, and by doctors, not my best friend.**

**Anyways, toodles,**

**breezyme**


End file.
